


Decryption Key

by Cathryn



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathryn/pseuds/Cathryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Learning to interpret how Jim communicates was a confusing process, but Martin's fairly sure he's got the hang of it now.</i>  <i>Cabin Pressure/Sherlock</i> crossover; companion piece of sorts to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/321087">"Aviators,"</a> but can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=115017623#t115017623">this</a> prompt at the <i>Sherlock</i> prompt meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decryption Key

When the door to Jim's flat unlocks into almost-total darkness, Martin's first reaction isn't exasperation, but stomach-sinking anxiety. 

This isn't the first, the second, or the tenth time Jim has forgotten something since they've started dating; in this case, that he insisted Martin come directly to his flat after the long Canberra flight. He gets wrapped up in his work and his projects. Sometimes he's incommunicado for days altogether. And that's fine, of course, if anyone understands tunnel vision it's Martin, and he knows by now that Jim does it to everyone and it's nothing to do with him, but . . .

But sometimes it leads to moments like now, with Martin standing in a dark flat and feeling like an idiot.

"Jim?" he calls tentatively, just in case. "Are you home?"

Silence. Martin's face begins to heat up. He waits for a long moment, then turns to leave.

"I'm in here." The sound of Jim's voice startles him into dropping the keys still in his hand. Martin scrabbles hastily to pick them back up again.

"The living room?" he calls back. Silence again, but that's less of a surprise; Jim is of the opinion that a correct guess is its own answer.

The one good thing about standing around in the dark like a knob is that his eyes have adjusted. He doesn't bother with turning on a light until he's got to the living room, where he gropes along the wall for several seconds before he finds the switch and flips it on.

"What are you doing sitting in the dark?"

Jim is on the sofa, looking up at him. His pupils contract sharply in the sudden wash of light, but he doesn't squint.

"I forgot."

When they'd first started dating, Martin had thought Jim was joking or taking the piss when he said things like that; eventually, he realized they were usually the truth. Learning to interpret how Jim communicates was a confusing process, but he's fairly sure he's got the hang of it now. Mostly. Maybe.

"Forget I was coming over, too?" he asks, and immediately winces at the obvious falseness of the levity in his tone. He tries to cover by taking off his uniform jacket and draping it neatly over the arm of the sofa, even though he knows that won't work. Jim has a knack for hearing what he means instead of what he says even when he isn't being transparent.

Lucky for Martin, Jim also has a tendency to ignore Martin's insecurities when they crop up. When he says, "No, I remembered that," he doesn't sound annoyed or like he's trying to pacify Martin. He just sounds . . . tired.

Martin pauses, takes a closer look.

Jim _looks_ tired, too. More than tired - he looks drained, like he aged a decade while Martin was away. Martin wonders if maybe Jim didn't forget about the light, after all. Maybe he just didn't have the energy to get up and turn it on when it started getting dark.

"Long day?" Martin sits down next to him, intending to lean over and give him a kiss. Jim is faster, though; he turns to press his face against Martin's shoulder, stretching his arm across Martin's abdomen. It's an odd and awkward gesture, something Martin would have expected more from himself than from Jim. Jim likes to touch and be touched - at least he does with Martin - but he's usually far more graceful about it.

Martin shifts to accommodate him as best he can, turning himself to face Jim and put his arms around him. It's still a little awkward, but Jim settles against him, his head resting at the crook of Martin's neck, for all the world like it's the most comfortable he's ever been.

"Long day." The warmth of his breath ghosts over the material of Martin's shirt.

Martin sighs a little, because the natural next question is _what happened?_ , but he can't ask that. It'll be something work-related Jim can't talk about; his job is top-secret, strictly out of conversational bounds.

The problem with that right now is, Martin doesn't know what to ask instead. He searches for a new question long enough that the silence starts to feel entrenched and he becomes uneasy about breaking it.

Maybe silence is what Jim wants, anyway. This is new territory. He's seen Jim quiet and distracted before, but this isn't that. This is withdrawn, not distracted; this is -

There have been a couple of times when Martin has come to Jim's flat only to be outright sent away by Jim's friend Sebastian, who says _trust me, you don't want to deal with him in this mood_ with such conviction that Martin hasn't tried to argue with him.

(He did try to apologize to Jim after the first time it happened, because if they're going to be dating then shouldn't he be willing to deal with any of Jim's moods no matter how bad it gets? But Jim just smiled and said no, Sebastian was right.

He never seems to think Martin should feel guilty about things.)

Maybe that's what this is. Maybe Martin just got here first this time.

If that's the case, then it isn't so bad. It's worrying, yes, of course it's worrying, and his back is going to start aching very soon, but he can handle it.

Feeling a bit more secure now he thinks he might have a grip on the situation, he asks,

"What do you need me to do?"

Jim answers without hesitation.

"Tell me about aeroplanes."

Martin blinks intelligently at the wall for a few seconds.

". . . What?"

"I spent the day listening to idiots." Jim speaks slowly, his words spaced out and weighted with a bitter, weary despair. "They get hold of a few pieces of misinformation and think it makes them experts. I'm so -" His voice drops to a whisper Martin almost can't make out, but he's pretty sure it sounds like _I'm so bored_.

"Well," he says, trying for a joke because he's never heard Jim sound like this before and doesn't know what else to do, "most people don't think of my aeroplane lectures as a cure for that, exactly."

"Of course they don't," Jim says, derisive now. "Not many people know how to appreciate someone who actually knows what he's talking about. It confuses them. Tell me about aeroplanes. _Everything_."

He still doesn't understand, not really, but that doesn't matter right now. He takes a breath, getting his thoughts together and finding a starting point. He starts with GERTI, her make and model and all her little quirks, and from there he gathers steam and confidence because Jim is right, aeroplanes are what he knows.

Judging from the way Jim begins to relax against him, it's working. Whatever it is he needs from this, he's finding it. He even moves to pull them into a more comfortable position, back against the sofa, taking the strain off Martin's back before the ache can settle in for the night. Pleased with himself, Martin pauses to kiss Jim's forehead. Jim makes a dissatisfied sound at the break in the monologue; Martin laughs and kisses him again before resuming.

Jim curls closer, his eyes sliding shut. After a while, his breathing begins to even out. If he really is falling asleep, Martin doesn't want to disrupt it - Jim doesn't sleep enough - so he keeps talking until he starts to lose track of what he's saying, the exhaustion of his own long day catching up to him.

 

(Not long after Martin falls asleep, Jim's eyes open. He changes position a little, enough that he can watch Martin in silent contemplation. He stays like that for some time.)


End file.
